


The Epistolary Journal of Draco Malfoy

by Elfflame



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Bottom Draco, Letters, M/M, Top Harry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-06-05
Updated: 2007-06-05
Packaged: 2017-10-19 01:20:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,811
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/195305
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elfflame/pseuds/Elfflame
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Potter was never supposed to get the letters.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Epistolary Journal of Draco Malfoy

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Draco's 27th birthday. So here is my third-ever birthday offering for him. It seems to have become a tradition for me to write letter-fics on his birthday, so that was what I did again this year. This is also written in honor of Pornish_pixies’s Internet is for Porn Challenge in honor of their grand (and I do mean grand) re-opening. May Pornish live forever! I have to admit, the porn in this is light, but it is there. I hope people will enjoy. Huge thanks to Nyx_noire for nursing me through this, and to Harleen for looking it over for me.

Harry was never supposed to get the letter. It was just something Draco did when he needed to relax. He’d done it for years. But then he’d sent out a batch of invites for a small gathering and the bloody thing had somehow gotten mixed up with the bunch. Draco hadn’t noticed it was gone until he’d sent the stupid owl off with the things and looked around to find it missing.

It had started the summer Draco had taken the Mark. Coming home from his Marking, he’d felt drained and horrified. And his feelings simply hadn’t been something he could share with his mother, or with Professor Snape, no matter why his father trusted the man. So he’d written to Harry, instead.

 _Potter,_

 _I wish I’d listened instead of taunting. But how could I know any better than what father told me? You’re right. Dumbledore was right. He is a madman. But I have no choice, now. I can hope for little better than saving my mother. My life is already forfeit. I knew it the moment he told me what he expected of me. I won’t succeed. I can’t. But I will try._

 _I have to._

 _Draco Malfoy_

He’d hidden it deep in his school trunk, locked away with his most precious valuables. And over the next year, he’d “written” to Harry a lot. Particularly after the two of them had fought that day in the bathroom. It was the first time he’d referred to him by first name in the letters.

 _Harry,_

 _I wish I could blame you for what you tried to do to me. Somehow, the anger seems to have drained from me entirely, and all I am left with is this exhausted sadness that seems to be always with me. But I have to keep trying. I have to try to save them, even if I cannot._

 _Don’t blame yourself. If I’d succeeded in my spell, I would have hurt you, too. I’m fine. It was my own choice to attack you. Had I not, maybe we would finally be able to talk now. Not that you would be able to save me._

 _Draco_

This had joined the growing pile, but after that, the letters became far less about complaining about his lot in general, and far more personal. He told Harry that he wished they had become friends. That he wished there was some way Harry could help him out of this mess. That Harry would find the Dark Lord and kill him before he found a way to complete his task.

And then that night had happened. He’d fixed the cabinet. At first, there had been nothing but jubilation about it. He’d succeeded. And if he could succeed in this, maybe he could complete his other task as well?

The moment he’d faced Dumbledore, he’d known he was wrong. He might never have liked the man, but he still exuded power. Not unlike the Dark Lord. Though the Headmaster’s power was very different from his Master’s. And for a moment, Draco had faltered. And then Snape had appeared, and the choice had been taken from him. Dumbledore died.

Draco had run. And Snape had followed him, protecting him from the Aurors and Death Eaters, both of whom wanted to kill him, or at least to drag him before their Masters.

He’d mourned the loss of the earlier letters, but he hadn’t stopped writing.

 _Harry,_

 _Believe me, I never wanted this. I might have hated him, but I never wanted to see him dead. And I know you would never believe that. But it’s true._

 _You have to stop him. You’re the only one who can, now. He’s afraid of you. Because he knows you can. Do it. Do whatever it takes. I only wish I could help you._

 _And whatever else? Stay safe. The world needs you._

 _Draco_

What it had taken was the loss of someone Harry had cared deeply for. Ginny Weasley had been touched too deeply by Voldemort her first year at school, and it had been too easy for him to take control of her once more. The core of strength inside her had been what had been needed to destroy the Dark Lord. She’d fought him off enough to distract him from what Harry was doing, but in doing so, she’d lost her own life.

The world had cheered, but Harry had mourned.

And Draco, feeling more connected to Harry than ever, had mourned with him, even though it was for a Weasley.

 _Harry,_

 _I’m sorry. If I could have taken her place, I would have. You never deserved this. You deserved to have her with you at the end of all this. You deserved some happiness._

 _I know you will never see me as anything other than your school-hood rival, but I wish there was some way I could help you get through all this. I know you will never know it, but my thoughts are with you._

 _Fondly,  
Draco_

With the end of the war, Severus and Draco had turned themselves in to the Ministry. Lucius had died trying to escape the wizarding prison, and his mother at the hands of the Dark Lord. There was nothing for him to protect any longer.

The outcry against both of them had been severe. Most wanted them to receive the Kiss.

In the end, it had been Shacklebolt and Lupin who had stood up for them. And, to Draco’s shock, Harry.

He was entirely eloquent. The Wizarding World had lost enough already. The portrait of Headmaster Dumbledore had confirmed to the Order that Severus had fought the idea of killing the Headmaster to save Draco, but in the end he had done so. There was no true guilt, here, only a man trying to protect someone put into his charge by the very man he had supposedly murdered.

As for Draco, all of his crimes had happened when he was too young to be held accountable. Nor had he done anything since. He had just been another child caught up in the madness of a war that had not been his own. His only purpose had been to save his family. No one could hold him accountable for that, Harry said.

The Wizengamot had listened. And they had agreed. Draco had stepped from the Ministry that day with a pardon and an admonition to never again get caught up in the affairs of Dark wizards. There had been a fine, of course. And the Manor had been confiscated. But after everything else, Draco found it a small price to pay.

Once at home again, his letter to Harry had taken on the most personal tone yet.

 _Harry,_

 _I don’t know why you stood up for me. I know you must still hate me. I deserve nothing less from you. But I will say it, because I need to. Thank you. So much._

 _I know you would probably be horrified by these letters I write you. At first you were simply the most logical choice, but now… I find there is more to it than that. I know you could never see me in the same light. I have done too much to hurt you in the past. And forgiving me for my blindness in following Him is one thing. Forgiving me for the things I did as your rival would be quite another._

 _I know it. And yet…I cannot help but wish._

 _Yours,  
Draco_

After that, the letters became a form of diary. Telling Harry his plans for the day, about the latest bloke of the month, how Pansy was trying again to agree to a sort of formal union so that there would at least be a Malfoy heir. Anything that happened during his day was fodder to write to Harry about.

Though he saw him rarely, the few times he did in the following years always made his heart leap in his chest. Harry never once looked his way, though.

And time went on.

Most of the letters were in the same casual tone, but occasionally, there would be a letter written out of frustration. After he’d broken up with his latest bloke, or after he’d woken from a dream about Harry. Those were his favorite, because those were when he let himself truly explore how things might have been between them, if they had been allowed.

 _Harry,_

 _I had another of those dreams last night. We’d met at a club. And you confessed that you’d wanted me ever since the day in the bathroom, when we’d fought. That you’d never wanted her, just me._

 _And I brought you here. The first touch was enough to nearly make me come, but then you kept on teasing me—touching me, tasting me. Kissing and sucking down my throat, torturing my nipples… And when you sucked me into your mouth, I thought I was going to explode._

 _I was writhing and begging you to take me, to let me come, but you said that if we’d waited this long, that surely I could allow you a bit of time to learn my body. You were very thorough in your exploration. I don’t think there was an inch of me left that you hadn’t covered before you shifted to settle on top of me._

 _By the time you pressed into me, I couldn’t even speak any longer. I keened as I felt you fill me. It was so perfect, Harry. You inside me? How could I want anything more? We came at the exact same moment._

 _And then I woke._

 _I think of you too often. And I’m sure some of my lovers know that there is someone else in my mind’s eye when I’m with them. I want it to be you touching me. You inside me. I want to hear my name on your lips as you come inside me._

 _Then, maybe, I could actually feel whole._

 _Love,  
Draco_

These particular letters stayed close to Draco’s bed, kept in a small bundle in a little chest on his bedside table. Occasionally, he would read through them. But he found they only tended to make how he was feeling worse, so he tried to do so as little as possible.

Then Pansy had insisted upon a birthday celebration for his twenty-seventh birthday. It had been a long and drawn-out negotiation. After all, there were few of their crowd left, and the idea of celebrating without them all felt kind of empty. He’d always managed to put her off before, but this time, she didn’t seem to want to let the idea go. In the end, he had agreed, but once the invites had been written out, he’d jotted out an annoyed letter to Harry.

 _Harry,_

 _I swear, Pansy is just out to drive me insane. I’m sure that you would tell me to ignore her, but how can I do that to one of my last two remaining friends? Besides, I know she means well, even if she doesn’t approve of my attachment to you. She just wants to see me happy._

 _I do wish you could come to the party, though. That would show her. She might even shut up about my little “crush” on you. But I know it would never happen._

 _Maybe I should just bite the bullet and marry her already. She does have a point, after all. I can’t keep mooning over you forever._

 _Love,  
Draco_

When Draco realized the letter to Harry had been sent off with the others, he was horrified. Dear god, Harry would kill him!

He immediately Flooed to Severus, to ask for his help. Severus, though, seemed rather amused by his former charge’s little drama. In fact, he seemed quite unwilling to offer any form of good advice.

Draco had left his home in a huff, then apparated to a park near his flat, where he settled on a bench, his head in his hands. He wasn’t sure how long he’d been sitting there when someone else sat down beside him. He looked up—and froze.

It was Potter, of course. Draco couldn’t call him Harry right now. Not when he didn’t know why the other man had come.

“Malfoy,” Harry said calmly.

“Potter,” Draco returned, his voice as calm as he could make it. He thought he saw Harry’s lip twitch for a moment, though whether it was from amusement or disgust, he wasn’t too sure.

“I received a very interesting owl this morning, Malfoy. I was wondering if you might know anything about it?”

Draco could feel the blood rush to his cheeks, and the only thought he could manage was that he was very glad it hadn’t been one of his dream-letters. “I’m not sure, Potter. What was the letter you received about?”

A dark eyebrow raised. “I…think it might have been an invitation to a party, though I can’t understand why the person would want me there.”

“Oh? Would you want to go if it was?” Draco found he couldn’t quite meet Harry’s eyes any longer, and focused on an eyelash that lay across Harry’s cheek. He wanted to reach out and brush it away, but restrained himself. He hardly wanted to be doing something like that, least of all if Harry were disgusted by his interest.

“I suppose it would depend on who was there. I mean, I’d hate to be in a crowd of people who despised me.”

Draco looked at him, annoyed. “And what makes you think we do?”

“Oh…I don’t know. Maybe that this is the first time you and I have talked since I tried to comfort you in a bathroom twelve years ago?”

Swallowing, Draco stood up and looked away. “You weren’t supposed to get it.”

He could feel Harry stand up and move closer behind him. “Why? Do you write letters to me that you don’t send a lot?”

The question made Draco’s breath catch. Sure, he could lie and say no. But Harry was actually here now, and to turn away a chance at something he’d wanted for so long… He turned to Harry, and nodded.

Obviously, Harry hadn’t been expecting that answer. He looked shocked. “You do? But…why? I thought you hated me?”

“You read the letter. Did you think I was joking? You were never meant to get it. It’s…just something I do to blow off steam now and again. But…no. I don’t hate you.”

Whatever Draco had been expecting, it hadn’t been for Harry to step closer. “How much do you…not hate me?” he asked softly.

“I…” After dreaming of something like this for so many years, could Draco really allow himself to back off now that it was in his grasp? That eyelash was still there, and he reached up with a finger and wiped it away.

Then, cupping Harry’s cheek, he leaned in and pressed his lips to the other man’s, gasping softly against them when Harry’s arms closed around him and pulled him closer. His lips opened, and their tongues wound together. It was nothing like he’d ever imagined. It was perfect.

For a long time, Draco forgot where they were, caught up in the sensation of actually, finally kissing Harry. How soft his lips were. How it felt to suck at his bottom lip. The soft sounds Harry made when he found a particularly vulnerable spot. He didn’t want to stop.

But finally, he pulled back so that he could meet Harry’s eyes. “Come home with me? You can read the novel I’ve written for you. Or…” Draco’s breath faltered at the very idea, and he had to force himself to breathe so he could finish the thought. “We could do something else, if you preferred?”

“Novel? You’ve written that many?” Harry asked, rather surprised.

Draco nodded. “Since sixth year. Though I lost the ones from then when I ran.”

For a moment, it seemed as though Harry were debating with himself, but then he nodded. “Yeah. I know. I have them.”

“You what?” Draco stared at him, amazed. He’d thought the letters lost forever.

“I…found them. After you ran.”

Draco raised an eyebrow, wondering how Harry had gotten into the Slytherin common room, let alone into his trunk, which he’d very carefully kept locked. “Oh?” Apparently he hadn’t been the only one with an obsession. “And?”

“They kept me from doing a lot of stupid things that next year, Draco. It’s because of you that I’m still alive. That I still want to be.”

Draco flushed. “Really?”

“Really. So…if I promise to give them back, do I get to see the rest?”

Trying to hide a wicked grin, Draco nodded. “Perhaps we could even act out one or two,” he added, as he led the way to his building.  



End file.
